


Spree

by thingswithwings



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Britta is the best failbot, F/F, Sex Toys, Shopping, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, okay, Britta," Annie says, "this thing you gave me is seriously just a scrap of ripped looseleaf that says 'IOU one shopping spree at A Woman's Touch.'  I do not even know what that is."</p><p>Britta does an excited little leap in the air and claps her hands.  "It's me deciding to help you discover your true womanhood."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphrodite_mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/gifts).



"Open mine next," Britta grins, handing Annie her birthday card. Annie gives her a dubious eyebrow.

"A card? Is there a check in here? Are you my Uncle Ira?"

"You have a rich uncle?" Troy asks.

"Is there any possibility he'll die and leave you a haunted mansion?" Abed asks.

"Yes and maybe," Annie answers primly, to each of them. "If by haunted mansion you mean a condo in Florida."

Troy and Abed confer. "We could make it work," Abed nods.

Annie pulls out the card and opens it. Britta waits impatiently for her expression to turn to excitement and gratitude.

She frowns. "Britta, this just says – "

Britta claps a hand over her mouth. "Shhh," she says. "It can be our secret."

"Mmmrrphhhh," Annie says, her brow furrowed. Britta does the slow nod and takes her hand away.

"O – kay," Annie says, giving Britta a weird look. Britta gives her a weird look back, and they stare at each other like that for a few seconds, expressions getting increasingly suspicious.

"Open mine," Abed says, breaking their weird standoff. "I got you a new cushion for your bed. So you'd have eleven instead of ten."

Annie opens it, and it's all girly, pink and purple. Annie gushes over it.

Britta sighs.

*

"So, okay, Britta," Annie says the next day, "this thing you gave me is seriously just a scrap of ripped looseleaf that says 'IOU one shopping spree at A Woman's Touch.' I do not even know what that is."

Britta does an excited little leap in the air and claps her hands. "It's me deciding to help you discover your true womanhood."

Annie gives her the side-eye as they walk into the library. "I don't know what that is either," she says, but she sounds suspicious.

"Well, I've been thinking, you know, about how you and your first boyfriend . . . didn't really connect on a physical level, and I figured that, as your slightly – very slightly – older girlfriend, it was my duty to show you what a big world it is out there."

"Yeah, all right, two things. One, you're not old enough to be saying girlfriend like it means 'female friend.' Two, do you even realize how condescending you're being right now? What did I ever say to make you think I wanted you to, to, show me anything? And three, and I know I said it was two things but, okay, I have a third thing." 

Annie's voice is rising, and Britta looks around the library anxiously to see if they're being observed. Luckily there's no one around but Mean Librarian, and Britta doesn't care what he thinks. Though she hopes he won't be any Meaner if he sees them causing a ruckus.

"So, three," Annie says, "three, your unconscious but pronounced homoeroticism is really making me think that _you_ need to do some world-exploring of your own."

Britta grabs her by the arm and pulls her into their usual study room; luckily, no one else is there yet. 

"Okay, okay, okay," she says in a fierce whisper. "One, I think it's cute and charming to refer to female friends as girlfriends in a manner that frustrates the casual listener's ability to decipher my sexuality and the depths of my relationships to other women. It _complicates the homo hetero binary_ , okay?" Annie rolls her eyes, so Britta keeps going. "Two," she says angrily, "I am sorry that I was condescending and I'll, I'll just get you something else if you want. I did not mean to upset you! And I'm sorry! And I just wanted to buy you a vibrator!"

Annie cocks her head at Britta's sincere but rather vehement apology. Angrypology, Britta thinks, also thinking that it's a pretty cool word. 

"And three?" Annie asks.

"Three, okay, look, everyone has _gay thoughts_ , Annie! I'm not any different from anyone else."

Annie blinks at her twice, then does the thing with her face that she does when she's trying not to look mollified, but can't help sort of smiling, against her will. "Okay, Britta. Okay. I . . . accept your apology."

Britta smiles. Annie gives her a little smile back.

"How much was that shopping spree worth, anyway?"

"Um. Well, when I said spree . . . " Annie cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

"All right, whatever. I will let you take me to . . . so, this is a sex toy shop?" At Britta's enthusiastic nod, she says, "you know I used to live above Dildopolis, right?"

"Oh, Annie," Britta says, full of compassion for her ignorance, reaching out towards her shoulders. Annie raises an eyebrow at her and Britta steps back before she can complete the hug maneuver. "I'm just saying, A Woman's Touch could not be more different than Dildopolis. It's a feminist sex toy shop."

"Right, okay," Annie says. For some reason she doesn't look excited.

Tentatively, Britta puts an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry," she says. "It'll be fun."

*

When they meet up to go shopping on Saturday, Annie shows up wearing giant black sunglasses, a floppy hat, and what looks like Abed's trenchcoat.

"Did Troy and Abed help you dress incognito?" Britta asks. "Because I'm not sure it's gonna work."

"Shut up. I looked this place up on Google Maps and it's in a distressingly nice part of town. What if my Bubbe saw me going into such a place?"

"Did your Bubbe know you lived above Dildopolis?"

Annie sniffs. "She . . . thought it was a kitchen supply store."

Britta laughs. "Well, that's not too far off. Come on, we don't want to miss the bus."

They manage to get there without too many strange glances, even with Annie looking like Carmen Sandiego, and then A Woman's Touch is just like Britta remembers it, full of every device and accessory for pleasure, the air full of the mellow sound of 90s female singer-songwriters.

"Backpacks behind the counter, please. And just let us know if you have any questions," a woman calls from the front. Britta watches as Annie shrinks further into her disguise.

"Seriously, you are embarrassing me with that. At least take off the hat. And the sunglasses." Britta pauses. "And the trenchcoat."

Glaring at her, Annie shoves the hat and sunglasses into her backpack before leaving it with the smiling, attentive clerk. She leaves the trenchcoat on, pointedly, Britta thinks.

Britta smiles. "So, Annie, what's your pleasure?" She thought of that line on the way over, and she's really psyched she got to say it.

Annie furrows her brow. "You mean you're not just going to . . . buy me something?" 

"Well, I can't buy you something if I don't know what you like! What if Abed had gotten you a, I don't know, Transformers cushion for your bed?"

Annie wrinkles her nose. "Is the range here really as extensive as that between purple flower embroidery and Transformers?"

Britta breaks out the slow nod once again.

"So, I know this might be a difficult process for you, but if there's anything you want help with – if you have trouble coming, or you get frustrated, or there's something that works sometimes but not always, if you get _tense_ – "

"I don't have any trouble. Um. Coming," Annie replies, shaking her hair back over her shoulder. Britta's eyes widen.

"You don't?" 

"Well, it's pretty simple, isn't it? Press and release. I thought with the . . . devices, there might be more to it?"

"Uh. Well." Britta takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She'd always assumed, with the way Annie talked about sex, the way she walked and carried herself . . . Britta frowns at her own assumptions, all of which were based on Annie's performance of gender, not her real authentic self. She bites her lip. "There's certainly more that can be done. Have you tried g-spot stimulation?"

"Sure," Annie shrugs, looking completely nonchalant. At Britta's second surprised look in as many minutes, she adds, "um, you know. With my fingers."

Britta had been working on one theory of Annie Edison: young, uptight, A-type, control freak, in need of a friend to show her the power of her own body and expand her horizons. A friend, a mentor even, to guide her womanhood to full bloom. But now she can't get the image out of her head, Annie with her fingers up inside herself, Annie _pressing and releasing_ , coming easily against her own hands night after night.

She gathers her wits together again, shaking off the image. "Well, if you like that, maybe these ones over here? They do clit and g-spot simultaneously."

Annie bounces over to the shelf that Britta's pointing to, all evidence of her Carmen Sandiego persona long gone. Britta should've known that her love of careful comparison-shopping would trump any nervousness.

"How hard do these go?" she asks, running her fingers over the boxes. Britta watches as her index finger – nail cut short, painted with clear polish, prudish as a grandmother – runs over the cellophane separating her from a beautiful lavender-colored vibe that's artistically flared. It boasts twelve different speed settings.

"Oh, if it's power you want, this one's your friend," a clerk says suddenly, popping up at the end of the aisle to point at a particular model. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt."

"No, no, it's okay," Annie says. "I don't really need that much stimulation, though. I'm more interested in the different speed and pattern settings."

The clerk brightens. "Well," she says, "if you don't mind a personal recommendation . . . "

Britta hangs back, letting them talk over technical specs together. She sighs over some of the new items; there's really nothing like a new sex toy. But she's here for Annie's shopping spree, and it's not like she's made of money.

"Britta?" Annie is saying. Startled, Britta turns around; from the look on Annie's face, she's been calling her name for a minute or two.

"Hi, yes, sorry," she says. "I was just . . . lost among the merchandise."

Behind Annie, the clerk smiles brightly. "It's so easy to do with so many good things on display," she chirps. 

Britta takes a moment to take in Annie's face; she's smiling, and her cheeks are flushed with red, and she looks pleased with herself. Britta feels a moment of tenderness for her. Annie should always get good things, things she wants and needs. 

"Getting a new sex toy is a good look on you," Britta says, without thinking about it. Annie's flush spreads, and she ducks her head for a second. 

"I think this is going to be really fun," she says. "I'm glad we came."

Britta grins. "Can I see?" she asks. Annie looks a little reluctant, but eventually she holds out the box with the vibrator she's chosen. 

It's beautiful: elegantly shaped, rabbit-style but with three prongs instead of the usual two, one big and two little for extra clitoral stimulation. Silicone, Britta notes with approval, and rechargeable. It's a bright, cheerful, apple green, and for a flash of a second Britta can't help but imagine how it will stand out against Annie's girly-pink sheets. She looks at the price tag, and tries not to gulp so that Annie can see.

"Um, it's way more than I would want you to spend on me, though," Annie says, as Britta was clearly no good at disguising her gulp.

"Could we maybe . . . go halfsies?" Britta asks hopefully.

"How about you put fifty bucks towards it and we'll call it good," Annie says kindly. Britta breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Sounds good, buddy. I want you to have quality merchandise for your first foray into vibrators, but I'd forgotten . . . or, these are a little more expensive than I thought."

"It's okay, Britta," Annie says. Her smile is soft and pink and genuine. "I meant it, I'm glad you brought me. Thank you."

Britta shifts from foot to foot, smiles uncertainly. "Happy birthday," she says.

She puts in her fifty bucks and waits for the clerk to ring them up. When they leave, Britta notices, Annie foregoes her hat and sunglasses, though she still has the trenchcoat on. It must be Abed's; it hits her at the ankles, where it's obviously designed to hit below the knee. She looks unbearably cute in it.

"You okay?" Annie asks, as they head back towards the bus stop. 

"I'm good," Britta replies. "Just thinking about all the beautiful things I want but can't afford."

Annie does a little half-frown and puts her arm around Britta's shoulder. "Maybe for your birthday we could come back," she offers.

*

"You wanna stay for dinner? I don't think Troy and Abed are going to be home till late tonight, and we can order pizza or something."

Britta hesitates, wanting badly to go hang out in Annie's cozy shared apartment, to eat pizza with her and be friends, like normal friends. And maybe watch her new vibrator as it charges in the wall socket. 

"C'mon," Annie says. "I'll let you pick the toppings." Britta smiles. No one ever lets her get pineapple.

"Okay," she says. "Lead on."

Annie does, in fact, go and plug the new vibrator in, using the wall socket in her bedroom, and damned if she isn't blushing when she comes back, like she's shy to reveal to Britta how eager she is to play with her new toy. 

"You gotta clean it first," Britta says, from her spot in the leather chair. "Soap and water."

"Oh," Annie says, and unplugs it. Britta waits while she cleans it – actually donning rubber gloves to do it, which is just ridiculously cute – and then once she's got it plugged in again, Britta nods at Annie when she comes to sit down.

"I guess proper care is important," she says softly.

"Yeah," Britta agrees.

Annie frowns. "So, I thought you'd be happy. I went with you, I had a nice time, I got a – thing – "

"Sex toy," Britta interrupts.

"Right, a sex toy, and wasn't that the whole point? Didn't you want to do that for me?"

Britta sighs. "You'd just say I was being condescending again."

Reaching out, Annie puts her soft hand over Britta's wrist. "It's okay," she says.

"Well, I guess I just thought – you know, you're the smart one, the one with drive and motivation and stuff. I got to thinking, what should I get Annie for her birthday? What _can_ I get Annie for her birthday? Her twenty-first birthday, no less, a milestone of adulthood."

She looks up to see how Annie's taking it so far. Annie smiles and nods, and Britta's encouraged enough to continue.

"So I thought, well Britta, you don't have a lot to offer the world, maybe, but you do have life experience. You can give Annie something she doesn't already have."

"Uh, you kind of _did_ that?" Annie protests. Britta waves this away.

"I thought – it was dumb, but I thought you were, uh. Uptight. I thought maybe you'd never had an orgasm, even, and that I could . . . teach you. Give you that. And then I find out that you have extreme masturbatory skills and are giving yourself manual orgasms left and right – "

Annie had blanched the first time Britta said "orgasm," and at this last she waves her arms in the air to cut Britta off.

"Okay, okay, stop, you were right, that is _totally_ condescending. And, honestly, Britta, why would you think I couldn't . . . that I couldn't?" She looks suspicious. "Do you . . . have trouble? With it?"

Britta rolls her eyes. "Please. I come like a freight train with the slightest provocation. Remember how I had sex with Jeff? A girl needs a quick response time with him."

Annie quirks her eyebrows, taking in this Jeff-related information but not commenting on it.

"I just thought – you know. I thought it was something I was good at. That you weren't. That I could teach you."

Annie's smile is a little sad and a little fond. "Britta," she says, squeezing Britta's wrist, "I'm sure there's plenty you can still teach me. I don't know how to withstand tear gas or anything."

Britta smiles back, tentatively, feeling like a weird mess but grateful for Annie's understanding.

"Thanks," she says.

"And," Annie continues softly, her hand still warm on Britta's arm, "I want you to know that your homoeroticism is now officially out of control."

Britta laughs. "Just because a woman wants to teach another woman about pleasuring her body . . . "

Annie wrinkles her nose, laughing. "You have to work on your dirty talk, though. That really wasn't sexy." Then Annie leans across the space between the two chairs and kisses her, softly, on the mouth.

Britta pulls back, surprised. 

"What?" she says, as if Annie had just said something untoward. She tries to gather her wits about her, fails, and says "what?" again instead.

"You mean – is this not what you meant?" Annie asks. "I thought – were you not trying to hit on me? Are you actually that bad at talking to human beings?"

"I don't know!" Britta exclaims, since that seems reasonable at this juncture. "I thought I was just being a good friend!"

"Okay," Annie says, looking puzzled. "Okay. Tell you what. You kiss me. See how it feels."

Britta does. It feels nice.

"It felt nice," she says, after, and Annie nods. 

"So, good data. That helps. Britta, are you seriously telling me that you've never kissed a girl?" 

"Uh, just Paige, you know. And some girls in high school. And at the G8 protest. And you." She narrows her eyes at Annie. "Are you telling me that you have vast lesbian experience in addition to your masturbatory prowess?"

Annie laughs, looking a little self-conscious, and Britta tries to remind herself that she's just twenty-one.

"No, but I've – you know. Thought about it a lot."

Helpless, Britta reaches out and strokes Annie's cheek. Annie leans into it shyly.

"I think about you sometimes," Britta confesses. She wants it to sound husky and needy and other stuff like that, but it just sounds dorky, like something some dork would say. Annie grins at her.

"Cool," she says, and giggles.

They kiss again, then again, and then again, and then Britta loses track, gets lost in the smooth, wet sensation of Annie's mouth, the taste of her cherry lipgloss, the way she opens so prettily for Britta's tongue.

"You still wanna show me the world?" Annie asks, breathily, when they finally break apart.

"Okay," Britta says, kissing Annie, "first rule." She kisses her again. "No Disney references during sex." Another kiss. "You'll freak me out."

Annie's face looks shocked. "Are we – are we having sex?"

"Uh," Britta says, and feels every second of their age difference. "If you want? You get to say no. Or maybe. Or whatever." A horrible thought occurs to her. "Oh god, you know about consent, right?"

Annie gives her that determined-valedictorian look that she gets sometimes, the one that freaks Britta out worse than Disney references during sex. "Yes, of course," she says.

"Do you want – we can go so much slower," Britta offers. "Much, much slower, maybe some dates, some handholding, I can get you flowers – " Annie stops her with another kiss, which Britta sinks into gratefully.

"I'm an adult," Annie says, "have been for a while. You respect my decisions, right?"

"They're generally a lot smarter than my decisions," Britta admits, by way of answer.

"Then here's my decision. If you want, I think we should go into the bedroom," she nods at the door behind them, "and you should show me how to use that thing you got me. It should be powered up by now."

"The instructions say it's supposed to charge for six hours," Britta says faintly.

"Fuck the instructions," Annie pronounces, and leads her by the hand into her soft, pink, entirely too quilted bedroom.

"You're not afraid I'm gonna mess up the cushions?" Britta asks.

"Nah," Annie says, and they lie down together. Then she seems to consider. "Well, I mean, yeah. But I can fix them after."

For all Britta's written entire college papers about the female body, and for all she's screamed at anti-abortion protesters while holding blown-up pictures of vaginas on posterboard, and for all she really did kiss those girls in high school, and at the G8 protest, and probably other places too, she still finds herself nervous, unsure what to do or where to start. So she does what she always does when she's in a new situation: she takes a deep breath, gathers her courage around her, and does her best.

Her best has Annie breathing fast, just a minute or two later, with Britta's fingertips on her nipple, Britta's mouth against her neck, Britta's legs brushing tantalizingly against hers. They're both still fully clothed, but it feels, bizarrely, like the most intimate thing Britta's ever done, even including that thing the one time with Blade and the needles. Annie looks up at her with matching courage, and strange, obviously misplaced trust, and Britta knows that it's far too precious for her to treat casually.

"You know you can stop us, or just slow us down, anytime, right?" Britta says softly, nipping the skin below Annie's ear. "You know I want this to be good for you."

"Yeah," Annie agrees, arching into Britta's hands, against her mouth. "I know, Britta. I know." So Britta takes off Annie's shirt and then her own, plays with Annie's nipples for a long time through her bra. She's always liked doing this for herself, the weight and shape of her breasts in her own hands; she wonders why she never tried it with someone else's breasts.

Annie sweeps her hands over Britta's shoulders and arms, down to her waist. Her thumb dips into Britta's navel; her fingers pinch sweetly at Britta's nipples; her nails scratch at the sensitive, ticklish skin over Britta's ribs. If she really is as much of an amateur as she makes out, she's at least thought this through.

"This is good," Annie says softly. "This is what I wanted."

Britta hesitates with her fingers above the button to Annie's jeans. "You said you wanted me to use your new toy," she offers.

"If you want," Annie says. Her smile is shy. "I wanted to try it out."

Britta gets up to unplug it from the wall, and in the process she shucks her jeans and her bra. 

"Is this okay?" she asks. Annie kisses her in response.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, Britta. Yes." Slowly, Britta takes off Annie's bra, too, letting her breasts spill out against Britta's hands, against Britta's eager, suckling mouth.

They get faster, sloppier, more heated; they fall into the easy, sliding rhythms of sex, and this Britta knows: this Britta knows better than anything. She uses her fingers on Annie's clit, outside of her panties, then waits, surprised and darkly satisfied, as Annie gasps and clenches through what is almost certainly an orgasm.

"You weren't kidding," Britta grins. "I can't wait to get this thing inside you."

"Oh," Annie says, obviously still a little out of it. "Oh, yes, go for it."

Britta pulls off her underwear slowly, as sensuously as she can manage, and cups Annie's vulva with her hand. "Can I put my fingers in you?" she asks, just like she's asked countless boys. There's nothing to this lesbianism thing, really, when you think about it.

"Yeah," Annie says, so Britta does, slips her fingers up inside and rubs slowly, pressing firmly against the rough spot. All those Women's Self-Knowledge workshops are definitely paying off. Annie arches, and gasps, and her soft smooth thighs fall apart like Britta's pressed a magic button. Which, of course, she has.

"You're pretty wet," Britta says. "Do you think you're ready?"

"Just go slow," Annie says, and Britta can't help but bend down and kiss her belly, her breasts, the tops of her thighs. Annie's skin is hot beneath her lips.

She eases the toy into her; it's not supposed to be that big or penetrate that deep, just to slip inside and hit the g-spot, nice and easy. Annie gasps, though, at the moment of penetration, and unless Britta misses her guess she thinks Annie might also benefit from something a little bigger that can push in a little more.

"You like that?" Britta asks. Annie nods, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark. Britta turns it on.

"Oh, yeah, wow," Annie says, blinking. Britta grins at her.

"Nothin' like vibration," she says. Annie nods.

"I see what you – oh! – what you mean," she says. "Oh, oh, oh. Oh wow."

"You want me to turn the clit parts on?"

"Yeah," Annie gasps.

"You sure?" Britta teases.

"Britta." Exasperation, Britta thinks, is also a good look on Annie.

She turns on the other motors, and Annie's legs shift and stretch beneath her. "Shhh," Britta says. "I got you, I got you."

"Yes – you – do," Annie gasps, and comes again, her whole body shuddering in time to the vibration. "Oh," she says, after. "Oh god."

"Need me to stop?"

"No, no, come on, again – " Britta grins and presses the toy in a little harder. Annie bucks and thrashes and cries out, when she comes, and this time a gush of hot liquid spills over Britta's hand. It's at once familiar and completely new, so that Britta blinks down at her wet hand for a moment before pulling the toy back.

"Enough, enough," Annie says, sounding slurred. Britta shuts the thing down and sets it on the bed. The green does stand out against Annie's sheets, as it turns out. Britta's glad she got to see for herself.

"How're you doing?" she asks. Annie groans.

"Really good," she manages, eventually. "I see the benefit to the vibrator now."

"I thought you might," Britta agrees. She kisses her again, because she wants to so very badly, and Annie's return kiss is sloppy and wet and perfect.

"You want me to do you?" Annie asks, her hand slipping down to Britta's hip. "Because I want to do you. I've thought about it a lot." Her fingers dip under the waistband of Britta's panties, nudging them down.

"We shouldn't share sex toys," Britta says, lifting her hips so that Annie can finally get her naked. "I don't want to set a bad example for you."

"Too late," Annie laughs. "But anyway, I was thinking. I tried it your way. Now you should try it my way."

"Yeah?" Britta spreads her legs as Annie's hand works its way between them, rubbing slowly and sensuously over the outside lips.

"Yeah," Annie says firmly. "Yeah. Just my fingers, slow and sure. Practiced."

Britta groans, wanting to thrust down against Annie's touch, but holding herself back.

Annie takes over. She's as good with her fingers as Britta could've hoped, rubbing in slow circles, sometimes soft and sometimes hard, building Britta up and letting her down, over and over, until the slow cycling pleasure has Britta squirming against the sheets and gasping.

"C'mon," she says, after a while. "C'mon, Annie, do it."

"Are you sure?" Annie asks, grinning above her. "You know you can stop this at any time, right?"

"You're such a dick," Britta laughs. "I'm sure, I'm sure, just do me already."

Annie slips her fingers inside, still rubbing Britta's clit with her other hand, and Britta feels it coming on like a slow, inevitable wave, rolling over her with such gradual pleasure that she gets lost in it, her whole body aching with the perfect, unhurried release.

"Yikers," she says, when she has it in her to talk again. Annie collapses, giggling, against Britta's belly.

"Britta," she says, almost hiccupping with laughter. "Never change."

"Okay," Britta agrees, smiling.

"You want another?" Annie asks, returning her hands to Britta's thighs. Her fingers are slick and wet, coated with Britta's fluid, but she doesn't even seem conscious of it. Where her fingers touch Britta's thighs they leave shiny little trails.

"No, no," Britta says, holding up her hands. "I get sensitive. Give me a little while."

Annie's expression is something soft and tender. "Okay," she says. Britta leans up and kisses her again, because she liked it before and wants to try it again. It's still nice.

"You want to order that pizza in the meantime?" Britta asks. "I'm hungry, and I bet you could go for something to eat, after all that."

"Sure," Annie agrees, getting up off the bed. Britta watches her, her breasts, her ass, the way her legs move as she walks. "I'll go call. Do you want pineapple?"

"How'd you know?" Britta asks, genuinely surprised.

Annie shrugs as she pulls on a robe. "I pay attention. And hey, Britta?" 

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor and plug the vibrator back in, will you?"

Britta's grin breaks out all over her face. "You got it," she says.

They eat the pizza sitting together at the dining room table, ankles twined together, and Annie lets Britta have most of the pineapple.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Spree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150014) by [sophia_sol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_sol/pseuds/sophia_sol)




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